


Even lovers drown

by ladylapislazuli



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Divergence, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Horror, M/M, MerMay, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24858235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylapislazuli/pseuds/ladylapislazuli
Summary: Felix travels. He hears things. He searches for Dimitri, and the more he searches, the more he hears.We threw the prince into the sea. But the prince did not die.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 29
Kudos: 218





	Even lovers drown

**Author's Note:**

> A belated addition to MerMay, inspired by an anon prompt on CuriousCat (thanks, Anon!). Title taken from 'The Mermaid' by Y.B. Yeats.
> 
> Inspired by these beautiful (and terrifying) MerMitri artworks:  
> https://twitter.com/pokerharem/status/1261146509887918082  
> https://twitter.com/ruebirds/status/1265077403241426944
> 
>  **TRIGGER WARNINGS:** Please observe the tags. In addition to horror themes and mild gore, this fic also contains dehumanisation (specifically referring to MerMitri as "it" and "the creature").

There is something in the water.

It is a rumour Felix hears everywhere he goes, for rumours of death are commonplace during times of war.

_A battalion of Adrestian soldiers slaughtered their way through a whole town of innocents._

_Leicester soldiers set a church alight with the whole congregation trapped inside it._

_Loyalists of Faerghus severed a thousand heads and ringed them around their strongholds._

Rumours of bloodshed and death, of massacres and atrocities. Propaganda of sinners and saints, painting the opposition as inhumane while claiming merciful righteousness for their own side. Horror stories, as though the world at war is not horror enough.

 _Prince Dimitri is dead_. It is rumoured far and wide, but no one has ever seen a body. No one has claimed responsibility, despite the blow it would deal to those loyal to Faerghus. Despite how quickly their defences would crumble if they lost all hope. It is whispered all across Fódlan, but not even the traitor Cornelia will claim it for her own.

Just a rumour like any other – unfounded, meant to frighten the weak of will and sway the simple of mind.

But there is something in the water. Not rumour but horrified, terrified fact. There is something in the water, and it is destroying Imperial ships.

Felix stalks along the coastline. Called back by his father, by the frantic calls for aid from the fishermen along the Fraldarius coast. Called back to witness first-hand the aftermath of the destruction.

There is a man in a rowing boat waiting to take him out to the shipwreck. So close to the Fraldarius coastline Felix can make out its flag from the shore. So close it must have readied to anchor and lower rowboats of its own, sending its soldiers storming onto the beach and up into the village beyond.

So close. Too close, for the village would have fallen, its innocent slain before help could come. But no soldier reached the shore. And at this very moment, the remains of an Adrestian rowboat sit in pieces on the beach.

Only one. Either the beginning of an invasion, or a desperate, hopeless flight.

There are no bodies on the beach. A mercy for the frightened townsfolk who crowd the shoreline, staring at the ruined enemy ship so close to their homes. Silent and empty, its bow crushed against the rocky cliffs of the Fraldarius coastline. The ship is still largely intact. Even with the collision, there would have been survivors.

 _Do not go in the water_ , _Felix_ , his father had written. _Whatever you do, do not go in the water._

Felix’s father is a fool. The ship did not sink. The soldiers did not go in the water – at least, not willingly. Only one rowboat made it to shore, and it is empty.

Whatever is in the water went to _them_.

Felix’s sword is strapped at his hip. Close, familiar, though he does not expect it to do him any good. The fisherman’s rowboat draws level with the ship. Felix readies himself, steady, focused.

He boards. Braced, but nothing could prepare him for what waits above. Felix has seen bodies before. Many bodies, slashed and impaled and decapitated. He has seen many gruesome things in his lifetime.

He has seen nothing like this.

The deck is awash with blood. Blood, and viscera, and body parts. Crushed pieces of armour and broken weapons. Worst of all, bodies piled high – _piled_ – artfully, intentionally, cruelly so. A gruesome tangle of limbs shaped in a towering pyramid, corpses arranged like a sadistic work of art.

Laid out. By something intelligent. By something with two hands.

Felix touches the hilt of his blade, a prayer of his own making, for he is not a religious man. Then he descends below deck, searching for clues and survivors.

He finds nothing. Nothing of use. It is a living nightmare, a museum of horrors, fractured images of last moments of life. Bloodied handprints on doorhandles, bloodied footprints of those who tried, however hopelessly, to run.

It is unthinkable. Unimaginable, even for enemies Felix so deeply hates. He races back up the stairs and is sick over the side of the ship.

But he is a Fraldarius. He pulls himself together. Examines the blood trails, the marks left over from a strange, heavy body dragging itself about the ship, dragging itself through the blood of its victims as it chased down the living.

Though the bodies are piled up above, most of the killings took place down below. The creature, whatever it is, descended deadly and quiet, working its way through the ship in a systematic slaughter. Taking the inhabitants entirely by surprise.

The thing has had a lot of practice. It must be a master of Adrestian ships by now, must know their schematics inside out. There are no survivors, not even in the cleverest crannies. Felix knows because of the doors ripped clean off their hinges, the storage units crushed, the pipes split in two. The chunks of flesh left behind as the thing dragged its victims out.

These soldiers did not die by human hands, not by steel or magic or human muscle. They are too mangled, torn apart. And yet the thing that killed them is clever. So clever it killed every last armed soldier on an Adrestian battleship, no matter how well they tried to hide. So clever it took them by surprise, even as they readied for battle. So clever it dragged their bodies upstairs and laid them out, a monument to its bloody deeds.

It is gone without a trace. There is nothing more for Felix to do.

He heads back to the rowing boat. Climbs carefully down into it. The fisherman stares at the blood on his boots, for there was too much to avoid stepping in it.

“To shore,” Felix says.

The fisherman rows as fast as he can, staring at the water. Calm, still, unthreatening water, shining under the midday sun. At night the cliffs are well-illuminated by the lighthouse above. They have not had a shipwreck in a hundred years. The Fraldarius coast is cold and stark, but it is forgiving.

But there is something in the water. And it is not forgiving at all.

\- - -

No Imperial ships may land safely in Faerghus territory.

It is a rumour, a terrified whisper that spreads wherever Felix goes. Imperial soldiers killed and mutilated, bodies washing ashore, even more bodies never returning at all. Ships found abandoned in the middle of the ocean, entirely unharmed, every person aboard them dead.

It should be a victory. A blow against Adrestia, against the Empress’ reaching hand, against the traitor Cornelia and her allies. The Empire cannot wage its war by sea, for every soldier its sends over water dies a gruesome death.

It should be a victory. It should be.

But there is something in the water. A horror story shared over liquor, or told to naughty children who try to play unsupervised by the sea. A rumour passed by bored soldiers awaiting action, passed around like yet another gruesome bit of gossip.

It is not gossip. There is something in the water - one truth among all the rumours of death and suffering.

Felix hears them. Felix knows.

 _Prince Dimitri was hanged. Prince Dimitri was drowned. Prince Dimitri had chains tied around his ankles and was thrown into the sea, never to see the light of day again_.

No one has seen the thing in the water and lived. Yet Felix follows the trail of rumours, of bodies, of empty, ghostly ships, because no non-Imperial vessels have been struck. No fisherman or merchants. No swimmers venturing out too deep, or children drifting where they should not.

The creature attacks the Empire and the Empire alone. Furious, hateful, calculated. A vengeful spirit, hounding the Empire’s every move, leaving only some of the corpses behind and dragging others down, down, down into the depths.

Felix travels. He hears things. He searches, and the more he searches, the more he hears.

_We threw the prince into the sea, legs bound in iron, freshly whipped and bleeding so the sharks would come._

_We threw the prince into the sea, and he would not_ _-_ did not - _scream._

 _We threw the prince into the sea. But the prince did not die_.

Impossible. Untrue. A story from a myth or fairy-tale, meant to frighten children and the weak of heart. No body, no evidence, and not even his enemies will claim Dimitri’s death as their doing.

(Felix dreams of it. Dimitri, bound in heavy chains, blue eyes blazing his hatred. Enemy soldiers laughing, laughing, laughing as they threw him overboard and watched him sink beneath the surface, into the inky, unfathomable depths. Chains so heavy not even he could break them, mouth opening and water gushing in as he drowned. Felix dreams of the Imperial ship awash with blood. Dreams of Dimitri plunging into the depths of the sea, thrashing, dying. Of the sea wrapping him in its dark embrace, filling his mouth and lungs and throat. Twisting him, changing him. Spitting him back out.)

Felix follows the rumours. Searches for his prince, because it is his duty.

Searches, too, for the thing in the water.

\- - -

An Imperial ship is due to pass by Gautier.

Felix hears it from a reliable spy, and races across the land. The ship is a small one, not part of the main Imperial fleet. Scouting, not landing.

Felix rushes there anyway, as fast as he can go with the world at war. Slinking around enemies and allies alike until he reaches his target.

He borrows a boat. Rows out alone, stupidly, recklessly. If the ship is where it is supposed to be, he is in danger, and his sword will not be enough to save him from his enemies. If the creature comes, he is equally in danger, for his rowing boat is unmarked and who is to say which rumours are true, anyway?

The Imperial forces are Felix’s enemies. The creature kills brutally, sadistically, and it hunts Imperial ships. If Felix is right, the thing in the water will come – and Felix will be right in the middle of the bloodbath.

There is no sense in what he is doing. In the clawing desperation at the back of his throat, in the danger he is seeking. It is madness, pure madness. A theory so insane Felix cannot share it. No one knows where he is, knows who – or what – he pursues. He cannot speak it aloud. Cannot acknowledge it even to himself.

If Felix is wrong, he is in mortal danger. But if Felix is right…

Felix is a rational man. Logical, pragmatic. He prides himself on his quick thinking, his reason, his ability to see the truth in a world full of liars.

And yet.

He rows a long time. Exhausted and out on the open sea, no land in sight and the dark of night steadily swallowing him up. Navigating by compass and coordinates, by whispered rumour alone.

But the ship is there. Still, silent in the water. Imperial flag flying proud.

Felix approaches. Half expecting to be shot – arrow, magic, even cannon if the sailors are twitchy enough - but nothing comes. He rows closer to the ship, closer and closer, heart pounding in his throat. His oar strikes something in the water, and he startles.

An arm. Dismembered, floating on the top of the water.

Felix stares. Shakes. Takes up his oars, and rows closer.

If death takes him now, no one will ever know. No one will ever have cause to suspect that Felix Hugo Fraldarius was aboard an Imperial ship. But he boards anyway.

The blood is fresh, this time. Bodies strewn across the deck, not piled up as they were last time. There are weapons, too. Awful, spiked, heavy things, not made to kill a human, but a beast.

Not a scouting ship after all, then.

Felix listens – for what, he is not sure. For screams coming from below. For the moans of anyone still dying. For a heavy, inhuman body dragging itself through the bowels of the ship, hunting down the last of its prey.

His own breathing is too loud. His heart is pounding in his ears, and water is sloshing at the sides of the ship.

He hears nothing. Nothing.

Not at first, anyway.

A break in the lapping of water. A faint splash of something striking the surface. The hull creaking, and a strange, eerie, squelching noise. The noise of something heavy, and wet, and _long_ dragging itself up the side of the ship.

Felix clutches the hilt of his sword. Swallows. His heart thunders in his chest.

Felix is fast, and waiting, and ready. He whirls when he hears a great weight hit the deck, drawing his sword from its sheath. Thinking, rather foolishly, that he will have time.

Too slow.

A flash of skin, and teeth, and wicked black tail. Then Felix’s back hits the deck, the sword flying from his grasp. There are claws at his throat. A great, terrible weight bearing down upon him. Panting, putrid, salty breath in his face, _drop, drop, drop_ of liquid onto his skin.

A single, lonesome blue eye, barely recognisable in its hatred.

But he knows it. He knows it.

“Dimitri.” It is little more than a gasp. Felix is being crushed. Pinned down, and the weight is so painful he can scarcely draw breath. Claws cut into the skin of his neck, and he knows that he is bleeding. He tries again, but his lips move with barely a sound. “Dimitri.”

Twisted, transformed, inhuman. But Dimitri.

The creature bares its teeth. Leans in, depraved, mad, blue eye rolling and foam gathering at his – _its_ teeth.

No recognition. Felix will die here.

He scrabbles uselessly for his sword. Tries to speak, but no sound comes out. Struggles – weak, desperate – but the thing’s face splits in a grin. Bears down on him, grinning wider and wider, showing row after row of its deadly-sharp teeth.

“Dimi-” Felix can’t speak any more. Transfixed by his terror – he is a Fraldarius, a grown man, get up, get _up_.

He can’t. He can’t.

Claws digging into his throat. Seawater dripping into his open mouth, thick and vile and choking. That hateful, vengeful eye, blinking, widening - 

Suddenly, the pressure lifts. Felix pulls in a gurgling breath, gasping and clutching at the bloody wounds on his neck. Dripping with blood and who knows what else, but the pain is oddly distant.

He lies there. Limp and passive, when he should be fighting. Should be running away. He is going into shock, he thinks. Not good. He tries to get up, but can’t.

The creature is hunched nearby. Felix takes in its lank hair and skinny torso. Mutated hands, twisted into something too sharp and deadly for any human. The long, scaly, finned tail, black as night, ragged and ugly.

The weapon lodged in the creature's back.

It sways, clutching at its head. Mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out. Claws wet with fresh blood.

Felix’s blood.

The wounds in his neck are deep. Still bleeding, and Felix presses harder against them. His own hand is slippery, and more blood seeps out every time he swallows.

One slash of those claws, and Felix would be dead.

But the creature is still clutching its head, clawing so hard it begins to bleed. It rocks itself from side to side. Desperately thin, covered in scars. Bleeding sluggishly from the wound in its back, the great, ugly weapon still embedded in its torso, its human parts twisting into… something else. That tail, long and heavy and muscular. A deep, rolling, unnatural coil, black and spiky. Shark-skin, or eel-skin, or something in between. Built to cut through water, to propel the creature at terrifying speed. To drag strange patterns into great pools of blood.

It is Dimitri. It is not Dimitri. It is a creature out of a nightmare, so cruel in its killing that Felix struggles to sleep.

It is twisted. Deformed. Pitiful. _We bound him in iron and threw him into the water to die._

Felix forces himself to his feet at last. Weak as a newborn lamb, every step threatening to send him tumbling to the deck again, hand still pressed to his bleeding throat.

With the other hand, he reaches out. Fingers trembling, scrabbling for purchase. He pulls the weapon from Dimitri’s back.

Fresh blood. The creature writhing and thrashing in pain. That single, mad blue eye (and where is the other, _what happened to the other_ ) fixing on Felix. Mouth open, screaming, _screaming_ , but not a sound leaves those blue-tinged lips.

The tail lashes, and Felix isn’t quick enough. It sweeps Felix’s feet from beneath him. His head strikes the deck -

Nothing. Nothing.

Pain. Dizziness. The rocking of a boat, and the smell of the sea.

Moon. Darkness. The taste of blood.

_A bad dream. Please let it be a bad dream._

Nothing.

But Felix wakes.

There is sand beneath his back. The rising sun in his eyes. An awful, crusted feeling about his neck, bursts of pain every time he tries to move.

A figure leaning over him. Hideous scar where its right eye should be. The other an all-too-familiar blue.

Felix coughs, and his neck screams in pain. Tries to speak, but all that comes out is a groan.

There is something in the water, he thinks. Distant, shaky. Something in the water.

And Felix found him.

The creature hovers over him. Dirty, mad, inhuman. Twisted into something _other_ , something more terrible than Felix could ever have imagined, for all the times he called Dimitri _beast_.

The creature leans closer, its breath still putrid. Lone eye mad, teeth gnashing. Mouth opening and closing, and not a sound leaving its lips. Nothing but foam and water, dripping steadily from its mouth.

(Dimitri drowned. He drowned.)

“Dimitri.” Felix's voice cracks and breaks.

Dimitri comes closer still. So close his – its – _his_ lips press against Felix’s face. Forehead, nose, jaw. Not a kiss. Some hideous approximation of one, leaving nothing but a trail of filthy seawater behind.

Then he draws back, and more water bubbles out of his mouth. He traces the back of his monstrous hand against Felix's cut-up throat. Traces a single claw upwards. Careful, so careful, but Felix can feel its sharpness. Goes utterly still as it pricks against his skin.

It comes to rest against his lips. Dimitri’s mad, wandering eye is mournful. His mouth opens and closes, spewing more seawater, and if he could speak Felix thinks he would cry out.

Mad. Dangerous. Touching Felix in something like a caress. 

The sound of hooves in the distance, and Dimitri’s hand jerks away, barely nicking the corner of Felix’s mouth. It stings, the fresh pain stunning him as Dimitri twists, faster than a creature his size should be able to, and plunges back into the water.

“Wait,” Felix gasps out – garbled, useless, incoherent. “Wait!”

Too late.

He shoves himself onto his hands and knees. Half crawls, half staggers back to the water’s edge. Falls, hands splashing into the shallows, tiny waves lapping at his hands.

Soft, gentle, deceptively kind. But there is nothing kind about the sea.

Imperial soldiers threw Dimitri into the sea. And the sea took him.

The hoofbeats grow louder. Someone riding along the road – help, potentially. Felix is injured. One of his knees isn’t moving right, and the wounds in his neck are deep.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t cry out. His eyes search the water for some sign – a ripple, a flash of a fin, a hint of pale skin beneath the surface.

But Dimitri is gone. Back into the depths, back into the unfathomable darkness of the sea. Back to his ruthless, bloody hunt, a voiceless ghoul dripping the water that drowned him.

Gone. Dimitri is gone.

Felix swallows. Gasps for breath, slamming his hand against the wet sand, and the wounds in his neck pull open again. He drips blood into the water. _Gone. Gone_.

But then he looks to the rowboat on the shore. His rowboat, aboard which Dimitri must have carried him here. He thinks of Dimitri clutching at his own head, rocking, shaking. Thinks of Dimitri’s too-wet mouth against his skin, of Dimitri's clawed hand stroking his injured neck. Thinks of Dimitri’s claw brushing against his lips.

Dimitri is gone. But Felix found him. Can find him _again_.

And Felix will bring him back. (Somehow, he will bring him back.)

**Author's Note:**

> So who else has read "Into the Drowning Deep" lmao


End file.
